


Letting Go of Holding On

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Desperation, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Teasing, Watersports, off-stage consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the KM prompt: </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Valjean growing fuller and fuller and squirming more and more. Needing to press his thighs close together and sometimes hold his prick. "Oh please Javert don't make me spread my legs like that, ah".</i><br/><i>Javert making Valjean straddle his lap, smirking at the squirming man who is blushing and unable to hide his massive erection. Brushing a teasing hand over Valjean's brimful bladder and aching cock.</i><br/><i>Valjean unable to hold himself any longer, begins to leak in small spurts and then floods his trousers, whimpering at the sensation of pissing with his prick hard. All the with muttering "I'm sorry" and "Can't stop" as it takes several minutes for him to empty himself all over Javert's lap while Javert is caressing his thick pissing cock.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go of Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at writing water-sports. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated.

_It had started weeks ago, one night when they had their fill of wine and each other, and loosened tongues gave way to loosened thoughts._

_The immature seeds of desire that had been planted then eventually came to fruition some days back. Javert was slumped in the carriage, legs spread and knuckles taut and white as tension and moisture mottled his brow. Jean held him right on the edge. A sure finger teased his rigid length through the fabric of his trousers._

_“Not yet.” Jean purred in response to a jolt from Javert’s aching hips._

_Javert was breathing hard by the time the carriage rolled to a halt several yards from their home. The blood rushed in Javert’s ears, like the sea whipped into a stormy rage, and he was sure the breeze rippled with Jean’s gentle laugh as he hurriedly made for the front door. He was aching and leaking and pulling his lightweight jacket tighter around his body was all he could do not to take hold of himself there and then and finish what Jean had begun. He had barely stepped into the hallway before Jean was upon him; his lover’s breath warmed his ear and Jean’s palm shoved hard into the base of him and forced a roaring climax from him._

*

And that was why Jean now found himself leaning against the stone wall of the kitchen. Its coolness is a blessed relief for him and soothing against his damp forehead. Further down his hand presses circles into his aching bladder. There is a tickle deep inside of him; it’s growing ever stronger and pressing up, out, down and enticing his cock to thicken. Jean doubles and twists and his knees point inwards. He crams a hand deep between his thighs, then Javert is back. 

“Such a saint” he coos. His voice is like velvet being dragged over stone. “Not giving up, Jean?”

He stalks closer; his lips are peeled back slightly to reveal the whites of his teeth and his eyes shimmer dangerously. 

“Move your hand, Jean.” Javert clasps hold of Jean’s wrist and pries away the hand that was cupping himself. “Hmmm, hard and desperate. Just as I thought.”

Javert is not gentle as he shoves Jean fully against the wall. Jean whimpers at the jolt that echoes through him and causes his bladder to quiver.

“Javert, please.” Jean whines as he scrunches Javert’s shirtsleeves in tight fists. 

“Hush.” Javert rakes his long fingers through Jean’s thick white hair. “Let me make you a little more comfortable.” He growls a low note from deep within his chest and thrusts his thigh between Jean’s legs. 

Jean bends at the pressure and blows out a breath. Javert’s sleeves are creased further in Jean’s unyielding grasp but he ignores this to tug at Jean’s shirt and pull it free of his waistband before his hands drifts up and loosens the top two buttons. 

Javert growls again: “Stop that!” and he reaches down to still Jean’s rocking hips. 

Jean’s panting harsh, desperate breaths: “Please, please...I need...”

  


“Yes?” 

Another forceful twinge spears his abdomen and Jean can only drop his head and tighten his thighs around Javert’s. 

“What do you need, Jean?” Javert’s voice is innocent as he takes hold of Jean’s chin between thumb and forefinger and tips his partner’s head back to look at him.

“I need to...to...”

“One thing you have taught me Jean, is that the longer one stays on the precipice, the greater the fall. But,” Javert pauses to reach his free hand down and give Jean a tender squeeze. “That is not to say the fall cannot be delightful.”

Jean slumps back as Javert withdraws. He is breathless and the ache only winds tighter. It is pain, it is delight, it is –oh, god! Javert has picked up the jug and is trickling water into a glass. The water glugs thickly and Jean watches as it twists and shimmers like liquid silk. The flagstones keen and Javert has pulled a chair from the table to sit upon it. He beckons Jean over with a curl of his finger and Jean obeys. The weight of water within him sloshes with each step. 

Javert has a firm grip of his hips now: “On my lap, Jean.” 

“Ah! Please Javert.” But Javert is already pushing Jean’s thighs wide. “Don’t make me spread my legs like that.”

Tough! Jean’s legs are splayed and he is poised over Javert. The weight of all that he has drunk since they began this game is now pressing insistently downwards and his bladder contracts in encouragement to let it free. He’s breathing hard again and grips Javert’s brutal shoulders to steady himself. He is yanked into his partner’s lap and the shock reverberates through him like an earthquake. His breath has snagged in his throat and he feels his drawers dampen a little. Javert’s voice is soft as he instructs Jean to breathe deeply. Next he leans back in the chair and absorbs the sight before him; Jean is flushed, his chest is rising and falling heavily, redness has bloomed on his lips beneath the press of his teeth. Javert is gliding his hands down now and his fingertips start to prod at the waistband that is pulled taut across Jean’s swollen bladder. 

“You know,” Javert begins nonchalantly as he pulls the buttons loose, “I think you can take more.”

“I can’t! I’m so full...” Jean is panting at the tease of Javert’s fingers and threats. 

Javert has already taken the glass in hand. Jean watches as Javert takes a deep pull, watches the muscles working in his throat, and now Javert is holding the glass out to him.

“Drink.”

Jean is trembling as he clutches the glass and there is water quivering and sloshing in and out. Sips are all he can manage and each slides down with ease and drips more pressure into his bladder. The tickle has become a deep-seated itch and he’s stuttering his hips against Javert’s own.

“God help me, I can’t hold it.”

“You can stop this any time, Jean.” Teeth flash through Javert’s smile whilst he slips his hand into Jean’s drawers. “You’re already leaking, Jean.” He starts lazily swirling a finger over the wet, sensitive tip and Jean can only shove his hips forward. “You just have to let go of holding on.”

Jean was sure the blue of Javert’s eyes had never seemed so bright. 

Javert’s other hand is weighing heavily on the hard swell of Jean’s belly. Hard now, harder, harder...

“GOD ABOVE!”

The pressure surges and gives out. His drawers dampen then sodden, soon his trousers, Javert’s lap. He feels it rivulet down his legs, hears it trickle over the flagstones. And all the while Javert’s hand is upon him, sliding up and down. The sensation of it all is too much for Jean; sleek liquid pulsing forcefully from him, Javert’s finger’s light and teasing on his shaft. Jean can only curl his fingers around Javert’s broad shoulders now, can only press his face into Javert’s strong neck.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...” he’s whimpering; a pathetic cry birthed from need and relief. “...Can’t stop...I...”

Javert’s dry hand has settled on the back of Jean’s neck and he has started to encourage Jean to pull back and look him in the eye. Jean is whimpering still, there is a flush high on his cheeks and fans down his neck to his chest. 

Javert casts a deliberately slow glance downwards. “My, my.”

Jean hides his face against Javert again now and he’s digging his fingers deeper into Javert’s shoulders, gouging through the skin, as he continues to empty himself in this debauched manner. Several long minutes pass before it slows and steadies and stops. He shuffles in Javert’s lap still and feels the wet, heavy drag of the cloth against his cock. 

“Please...finish me.”

Javert answers with a growl. There are several firm strokes from his strong hand then a nail scrapping over that sensitive spot is all it takes to have Jean writhing and sobbing in relief.


End file.
